you left me in the dark
by rainbow-dango
Summary: "These were the lovely bones that had grown around my absence: the connections – sometimes tenuous, sometimes made at great cost, but often magnificent – that happened after I was gone." - The Lovely Bones ; An Into the Dark companion, mostly centered around Castle and Nicole.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello, readers! I'm baaaaack. Here is the companion I promised a little while ago. It does include a rewriting of epilogue, because a lot of you (and myself) disliked it. Also, it's not in chronological order, so it might jump around a little depending on what I feel like writing, honestly. It's basically a one-shot series set in the _Into the Dark_ universe. So, without further ado, the first chapter of the companion!_

_Disclaimer: Same as ever, folks. Still don't own it._

* * *

August 21, 2012

They let him say goodbye.

When he awoke to find her cold and still, he called 911, and after the doctor told him what he already knew - that was she dead - they let him see her to say goodbye. He tried to speak, but he couldn't find the right words, and so he relied on touch. He stroked her hair, caressed her cheek. Kissed the back of her hand, every one of the knuckles that had begun to protrude unhealthily a few weeks before. Slid his hands underneath her, palm to shoulder blade, and cradled her to him for a minute before leaving.

He made his way back to the waiting room, preparing the words, _You can go see her now, Jim_. He could do that, he thought. He could do that one simple thing and then go home, bury his face in something that smelled like her, and cry until it didn't anymore. But then he saw them, all crowded in the waiting room, in various states of devastation and shock. Her father and Esposito were stoic; Ryan was trying to be, but not quite achieving it. Jenny was with him, looking unsure of what she was feeling, knowing the detective as one of her husband's closest friends but not knowing her personally. Lanie was crying softly into her hand. Two uniforms had showed up - Hastings, who'd almost hero-worshipped Beckett, and a puppy-eyed Italian guy who had obviously had a crush on his superior. And then there was his family, his mother's arm around his daughter's shoulders.

Suddenly, he felt like he was walking underwater, his steps slow and dragging. All eyes shifted to him; the world settled itself comfortably on his shoulders. His chest was hollow. This couldn't be happening. He was dreaming - he'd wake up and Kate would be tucked against his chest, breathing evenly in sleep -

He collapsed at Martha's feet, sobs crashing through him. His head fell to her lap, and the actress started to gently run her thin fingers through his hair. It was scary how paralyzed he was, how couldn't make himself move or form any coherent thoughts. He just saw her, his partner, and felt the pull of the spell she'd cast on him. One memory was particularly prevalent; skin to skin, her thin arms holding a bed sheet above her head, her laugh rich and carefree and filling the bedroom. He could almost feel her under his hands as he shifted them, him over her, the bed sheet abandoned and fluttering to the floor. Her smile against his lips, the feeling of another laugh as he pressed kisses to her jaw. That indescribable love, unconditional and boundless, something woven both delicately and passionately between them. His wife's spell, and nothing else on that morning, wrapped around them. Now, here, he couldn't think of it as broken - it lingered, tight around his heart, his lungs. It was so jagged and painful, and . . . maybe it was broken, pressing into him harshly and drawing blood.

He wasn't sure how long he cried for, but he wasn't quite done as his mother and Alexis guided him into the loft. They helped him to bed despite the hour and a teary-eyed Alexis kissed his temple with an "I love you, Daddy."

The writer laid there for the rest of the day, grappling with a realization that his novels and his own personal beliefs used to negate: loss was stronger than love.

* * *

_A/N: They won't all be this short, I promise. This is just the beginning._

_Thoughts?_

_-Ellie_

_P.S. I don't know how much I'll be updating. Whenever inspiration strikes, I guess._


	2. Chapter 2

Alexis was an easy baby, happy and easily pacified, making the _terrible twos_ seem like nothing more than urban legend. She talked early, walked late, and rarely cried. She was a very social little thing, too, smiling and gurgling happily for just about anyone who picked her up. He must've thanked the universe a thousand times for such a perfect daughter, his little redheaded miracle, even as the girl's childhood came and passed.

Nicole was the opposite.

She was in a miracle in that her conception was kind of miraculous, but she wasn't as well-mannered as her sister. Never had been. It really started when she was a mere three months old; colic set in, keeping both father and daughter awake most of the night. He didn't know what to do, how to comfort her, and his sleep-deprived brain would conjure up images of his wife in their child's dim bedroom, rocking the calmed infant to sleep. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever not seen.

Nicole was a clingy little thing as well. She cried when he passed her to her grandmother, or Alexis, or one of the boys. Lanie visited quite a lot, helping Castle keep his head above water, but it still took a few months before the medical examiner could hold her niece without a fuss. Castle couldn't even put Nicole down without it being an enormous issue.

Some nights, the writer was so exhausted that he just let his daughter tire herself out, let her cry until she couldn't anymore. He couldn't make his muscles work; he didn't have the willpower to get out of bed. It was selfish, he knew, and he hated himself for it, but he didn't have the strength. Not alone like this.

Nicole eventually grew into a toddler with big green eyes and long dark hair. She talked early, and quickly, and once she started walking, she didn't stop. She was very smart and very curious, which led to many almost-choking incidents and her father purchasing several baby gates. She was as stubborn as her parents before her, as independent as Kate; Jim said she was almost an exact replica of her mother at that age. But she was also such a Castle, so energetic, so hard to handle. She was defiant, which made Rick dread her teenage years, which made him think of all the times Beckett went rogue.

But there were moments when his little girl showed her empathetic side – another trait he categorized as his wife's. Castle still had moments when his brain malfunctioned, and his limbs wouldn't work, and every thought he had was clouded with exhaustion.

Nicole picked up on it one night; she bravely scaled the 'big bed,' an amazing feat for someone so small, and crawled closer to him.

"Daddy sad?" She was a smart girl, smart enough to know to keep her voice soft.

"Yeah, baby," he decided on telling the truth. "Daddy's sad."

She laid down next to him, watching him, sad because her father was sad. And Castle, at that moment, did not have the strength to fix it.

_I'm so sorry, Kate_, was all he could think.

And that was a problem that had plagued him from the day Kate brought up the idea of a surrogate. He couldn't take care of Nicole, not the way she deserved. His first thought was Kate, was always Kate, not their child. He couldn't escape the dead, even with his sweet baby girl needing him. He wanted to be better, but he couldn't let go of Kate. He didn't have the willpower. He was ruined; this was fate, this some punishment for a sin he didn't know he'd committed.

He couldn't make himself get up and face it.

Lanie showed up a few minutes later, and sent Nicole into the living room to play. She sat down next to her old friend, concerned; she'd dug him out of plenty holes these past few years, and he was forever grateful. Though he didn't really feel that at the moment, or anything, for that matter. Just his heart beating traitorously, his treacherous mind remembering, cracking along the fault lines created by several close calls. A bomb placed in her apartment, a sniper disguised as a groundskeeper –

"I miss her," he said quietly. "Isn't this supposed to get easier?"

"No," the dark-haired woman replied sincerely. "But you're gonna have to man up and deal with it. She'd want you to move on."

"Lanie, I have absolutely no idea of knowing what she'd want," he said.

"Don't pull that bullshit on me, Richard Castle," her voice was suddenly harsher, rougher, trying to shake him out of this. "Look me in the eyes and tell me she'd think this was okay."

"She wouldn't," he answered like a scolded child.

"She loved you and Nicole too much," she added. "I'm sure, wherever she is, she just wants you two to be happy."

Castle had expected another tough admonishment, but when he looked up, Kate's best friend was close to tears.

* * *

He tried, he really did, but Kate was everywhere. Cuddled up to him in their bed, making coffee in the kitchen, sparkling in their child's eyes. He often thought of something Detective Raglan had said before he died, the comment about Jacob Marley and his chains. He was too young, and arguably too alive, to be Jacob Marley.

The writer spent a year struggling with that conversation with Lanie. Seven months after, he started looking into apartments in the area, thinking a new place would help. He spent four months looking at a list of places and then feeling guilty about it for almost a week – lather, rinse, and repeat until one chilly October day. The building wasn't too far away from the loft, he noticed, and the neighborhood was nice. The apartment itself was much more modest than the loft, smaller certainly, but a nice little place. It was . . . kind of perfect.

_Nicole's going to love it,_ he thought, and later realized - with a good dose of guilt and pain - Kate had not crossed his mind.

* * *

Nicole was excited about going someplace new, but not all that happy about her toys being packed up. Her anger was adorable but fierce, and Castle found himself scolding her more often than usual.

The night before the Big Move, as Castle had termed it with his now rarely-seen dramatic flourish, the man was sitting by a box labeled _Study_. Packing the items from his office he hadn't already put away, having procrastinated. Nicole suddenly stormed into the room and declared, "I'm mad at you."

Nicole's hair was short, chopped off with an uncoordinated hand. Castle opened his mouth to reprimand her and give punishment, but instead he found himself laughing.

It was so – so Beckett-like, somehow. Cutting her hair in defiance. He wondered if a much younger Kate had done something similar, thought it impossible that she hadn't. The laughter bubbled out of him without an end in sight, irritating his daughter. She charged at him, little fists swinging.

He stopped the attack, gently grabbing her hand and holding it in his. He told her, "You remind of your mommy."

Nicole, even at three, seemed to marginally understand the weight of what he said. Kate was almost . . . magical to her, a mystical figure that had existed long before her time (which was a tragic thought Castle could dwell on another time). To be compared to her – it was like being compared to Athena or Aphrodite.

"Really?" Nicole asked.

Castle nodded. "You're just like her."

Nicole threw herself into his lap, clearly wanting to hear more. He didn't talk about Kate that much – though Lanie and the boys and Jim did – but that night he did. He talked until passed Nicole's bedtime, until he swore his wife was in the room with them. But not in a way crushed him to the point where he couldn't breathe; in a good way that felt like Kate's fingers carding through his hair, her soft smile against his skin.

This was how she deserved to be remembered, he thought. This was how Kate deserved to be remembered.

* * *

_Thoughts?_

_-Ellie_


End file.
